


Waiting Room

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Challenge: Porn Battle V, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-17
Updated: 2008-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are hundreds of case files stored away back at SGC which could testify to the fact that there's very little Sam Carter hasn't seen or done in her years as part of SG-1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting Room

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle V.

There are hundreds of case files stored away back at SGC which could testify to the fact that there's very little Sam Carter hasn't seen or done in her years as part of SG-1. She's fought the pull of black holes and travelled past the reach of stars, met gods and monsters, watched those she's loved die and come back to her, had her hair wreathed in flowers and danced on snow-covered slopes under the glow of twin moons.

Sam can't recall ever doing anything like this.

"I'm still not exactly sure what I'm supposed to be doing here," she confesses to Ronon, her voice pitched low. Like all the others—Sheppard and Rodney, Teyla and Lorne, Cadman and Radek, various couples made up of other traders, Gerwen and not, who were going to try their luck at winning the Gerwennen mining concessions today—they're standing together in the middle of the temple compound. Loose ribbons wind round them from shoulder to ankle, thin strips of red and gold holding them near; the ends of the ribbon flutter in the early spring breeze. Ronon's warmth is pressed so close against her that they both have to tilt their heads slightly to focus on one another's face. His eyes are a pure, deep brown this close up, the curve of his mouth surprisingly soft.

"Told you," Ronon murmurs softly, "Waiting."

"Yeah," Sam says wryly; from a little way away, she can hear the rapid patter of voices which means Sheppard and Rodney are bickering again; she doesn't think they're any better at patience than she is. "I got that when the priestesses tied us up, said they'd be back in an hour and closed the temple gate behind them. I'm just still a little fuzzy about what this has to do with the right to mine naquadah."

Ronon shrugs, a lazy ripple of muscle that Sam can feel echo through her; she has to fight not to shiver in response. She's grown better at accepting her attractions over the years, but she's also better at knowing when she won't be able to act on them. "The Gerwen are close kin to Satedans. Value patience just like we do. Did."

"This shows patience?" Sam says, careful to skirt the topic of Sateda, not meeting his eyes; she doesn't know him well enough yet to understand what mentions will bring pain, and what would bring the remembrance of happiness.

"This is," Ronon says, voice rumbling deep in confirmation. "It's—" He breaks off suddenly, a low noise like frustration in the back of his throat, and for a moment, Sam doesn't think he's going to answer her. Then he shifts so that his hands are no longer pinned by his sides, but moving the length of her: not quite touching her, but close enough that she can feel the heat of his hands through the thin, cotton-like tunic the Gerwen had given them to wear. Goose-bumps break out on Sam's arms, and she stiffens her back, hoping like crazy that he can't feel the way her nipples have tightened, scratchy against the fabric of her outfit. From the sly grin on his face, she thinks that's a lost cause.

"Patience," he says, "Waiting." His hands skim over her, up from the small of her back, along the arch of her spine to the nape of her neck, where his fingertips tickle the fine hairs there and tangle briefly with her pony tail. "Satedan proverb—a time for speaking, a time for reaching out, a time for touch." Sam can feel her cheeks heat, and she hopes like hell none of the others can see what they're doing, what Ronon's doing to her—his bulk blocks them from direct view, she thinks, but he's pressed up against her now with intent, in a way that not even the ribbons can explain away.

She can feel that he's growing hard against her, and she feels bold, presses back, reaches her own hand between them to palm the hard length of him, graze her fingertips against the head. What the hell, she thinks, gone a little wild and reckless, they'll be back in Atlantis by dinner time, and for once, she thinks that that's as long as she should wait for what she wants.

"Samantha," Ronon says, leaning in to whisper hoarsely against her ear, "Do you know how much I want you to take me into your bed?"

"So," Sam says thickly, "waiting," swallowing with a mouth that's suddenly dry; her fingers itch, and she can't wait until she'll be free to touch.

"Yeah," Ronon says, and the corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles.


End file.
